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Her partner was already moving. Carson shoved to his feet, fingers encircling her arm. They moved as one, as though a single day and an entire war hadn’t kept them apart for two years. He took the lead, surely already having mapped out this apartment. Leaving no chance for surprise.
Bullets punctured through the wall to their left. Every single one of them seemed to hike her nerves higher. Moonlight pierced through the holes left behind.
Ivy crawled on hands and knees down the hall right behind Carson. The bedroom was positioned at the end. Drywall and dust worked into her lungs, but she couldn’t pay attention to the tightness in her chest right now. Sooner or later the gunfire would stop. The shooter on the other end would breach the apartment. They’d want to make sure they had hit their target. But she and Carson wouldn’t be here. She had to make sure of that.
“Go, go, go!” The orders were unnecessary. What was he going to do? Stop in the middle of the hallway to have a chat? But the need to be in control, to feel as though she was doing something to get them out of here, had taken hold.
A single round ruptured through the wall in front of her face.
Ivy pulled up short as Carson turned back and locked his gaze on her, facing the reality the bullet could’ve dropped her right here and now. Too close. She forced herself to shake it off. They were going to die if they didn’t pick up the pace.
Except the gunfire had stopped.
One second. Two. Longer.
No more shattering glass. No more close calls. No more attack.
They were out of time. “They’re coming.”
Carson lunged for the bedroom and somehow managed to land straight on her king-size bed.
She was right behind him, kicking the door shut. She threaded both arms through the backpack straps and secured it in place. Ivy unholstered her weapon and hit the release for the magazine. Fifteen rounds. Plus more in the go bag. They had a fighting chance.
“This is nice.” Carson slid his hands over the comforter sprawled across the bed. “Much softer than that crappy mattress you had in your last place.”
“It’s one of those mail-order mattresses.” She crossed to the corner window facing the next building over. It was one of the features she’d specifically required when she’d found this place. Corner apartment. Alley escape. Higher chances of getting out alive in case of an ambush. Most people didn’t live that way. But she did. She had to. Unlocking the window, she pried the pane up and pushed the screen free. “No squeaky mattress springs. Memory foam. I sleep like the dead.”
“Maybe one of these days I’ll get to try it for myself.” Carson was already on her heels as she maneuvered one leg through the window opening.
“Watch your step.” She latched on to the overhead stucco ledge framing the window and tucked her toes into an identical one under her feet. The framing only extended the length of the window. They were going to have to make it to the railing on the floor directly beneath her. She’d practiced a handful of times, once scaring the crap out of Mrs. Orson, who’d taken to doing yoga outside, but Ivy wouldn’t regret it now. “It’s a long way down if you’re not paying attention.”
A hard thud registered from inside. Then another. The shooter was trying to breach the front door. It would take a while since she’d replaced the short screws holding the hinges in place with much heavier-duty ones. That, and she’d added a couple of dead bolts. It would take him at least—
The heavy door slammed into the wall behind it.
Not as long as she’d hoped. “Come on.”
Stucco bit into her fingertips as she shuffled off to one side, out of line of the window, to make room for Carson on the ledge. He didn’t waste time in joining her outside. These frames weren’t meant to hold weight. They were purely decorative, and thelonger they held on, the higher chance the construction would fail and they’d both die sooner than they’d planned.
Movement echoed through the apartment. Crunching glass. The shooter was on the hunt. For them.
Ivy steadied her breathing and turned her attention to the railing below. Ten feet down, five feet to the left. She hadn’t jumped with the added weight of her go bag yet. She’d been building up to it in preparation for this exact scenario, but now she didn’t have any other choice. They were going to have to risk it. She whistled low to catch Carson’s attention, then nodded downward.
Disbelief and something along the lines of defiance spread across what little she could see of his expression. He shook his head.
All she could do was nod in response. A single word could give away their position. She’d already lost Carson to the cartel once, and it had changed the entire course of her career and her life. She couldn’t do it again. Ivy spread her weight evenly between both feet.
The movement inside the apartment was getting louder. Closer. They had a minute—maybe less. They had to do this now.
The weight of her backpack was beginning to wear on her. There was no encouraging Carson through facial expressions alone. She forced her attention to the target. Mrs. Orson’s second-floor railing. Ivy redirected everything she had into her toes to give her the distance she needed. Her stomach vaulted into her chest as gravity took hold. The metal railing rushed up to meet her. Faster than she expected. Her fingers grazed the metal.
Then slipped.
She was free-falling. Every cell in her body screamed in warning.
Just as she clutched on to the bottom rail.
Her head hit the section of stucco holding up the second story. Her concentration frayed, and her hand lost some of its strength. Her legs swung out of control and twisted her body to one side. The ground seemed to move beneath her, threatening to swallow her up.